


Fallen Angel

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [44]
Category: Airwolf, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Spy Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-09-24 17:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20362126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: Greg’s back on duty, but still struggling with guilt and control over his magic.  Enter Michael Coldsmith Briggs the Third, American spy, who’s in town to catch a mole with valuable information on a new weapons system.  When circumstances conspire to put the Canadian Sergeant in close quarters with Briggs, more than one secret is on the cusp of being revealed.





	1. The Curious Spy

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the forty-fourth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Fear of Self".
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_, _Harry Potter_, _Narnia_, or _Merlin_. I also do not own _Airwolf_, a TV show from the 1980's from which I have discreetly borrowed from before. This story includes characters and concepts from _Airwolf_, but you don't need to be familiar with the show.
> 
> For those who _are_ familiar with _Airwolf_, I've basically pushed the show's timeline forward by about ten years and gone completely off-script, since, in _this_ timeline, Moffet wasn't caught until many years after he stole Airwolf.

Sergeant Greg Parker and his civilian contact faced off with the woman who’d snuck up on them and taken another woman hostage. The hostage didn’t fight her captor’s hold, but she was alert and watchful in the room’s eerie silence. Parker had a fleeting wish that his contact had chosen something, _anything_, other than that blinding white ensemble; it was unique and distinct enough that he couldn’t even _try_ to convince the subject that she had the wrong man in her sights.

And she _did_ have his contact in her sights; despite the fact that she had a hostage and he’d identified himself as the on-scene negotiator, she was completely ignoring him in favor of the suit. “Hello, Michael,” she purred, adjusting her hold on her hostage.

“Maria.” Briggs’s voice was solid ice and his one remaining eye glittered with impotent fury.

Maria made a disappoint moue with her lips. “Come now, Michael,” she chided, “We had such fun, didn’t we?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Briggs replied, his tone switching to one of forced nonchalance. “But I don’t particularly _enjoy_ truth serum or sensory deprivation tanks.”

Above and around the tableau, Parker saw his team shifting into position, their weapons at the ready. His jaw clenched as his contact and the subject traded more barbed words, their history easy to read and even easier to get angry over.

Which he was. In the back of his mind, his wild side was growling and snapping, eager to deal with the threat. Parker determinedly held onto his temper, refusing to give ground to the angry gryphon. Despite his best efforts, his eyes shifted, becoming more like an eagle’s than a human’s.

“Boss,” Jules whispered.

He knew, he knew, he knew, but there was nothing he could do. He was the primary negotiator, even if the subject was currently ignoring him in favor of taunting Briggs.

“You did what I wanted once, Michael,” she sneered loudly. “I can do it again.”

Under his suit, Briggs’s shoulders twitched and Parker chalked up another point for the subject. Enough. “Ma’am, let’s talk about what we need to do to get everyone out of here safely today.”

He might as well have been talking to himself. Maria flicked a brief look at him, then turned back to Briggs, giving him a flirtatious look. “What do you say, Michael, hmm? We could have such _fun_ together.”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you, Maria.”

A tiny scratching sound reached the Sergeant’s ears. Frowning, he shifted position just enough to scan the area behind and to the side of him. A figure was getting into position, a figure wearing an SRU uniform. Realization sparked and Parker calculated his next move with lightning speed.

“Scorpio.”

Two gunshots rang out.

* * * * *

_18 hours earlier_

Archangel leaned back in his chair, reading through the information he’d had assembled on a small police unit in Toronto, Canada of all places. Why Hawke felt they were important enough to warrant _his_ attention was beyond Archangel, but the spy knew he had little choice so long as Hawke was the only person capable of flying Airwolf. Just as he had little choice but to look for a man who was probably very long dead and buried in some obscure corner of the world.

The tall, lean spy sighed to himself as he sorted through the files. His full blond hair was cut close in a crew cut, the easier to deal with during his undercover duties. His small, neat moustache was his private vanity; he kept it carefully trimmed and groomed, even when undercover. A liability, perhaps, but Archangel’s skill at undercover operations meant his vanity rarely got him into trouble.

No, the item far more likely to draw attention was the blacked out lens over his left eye. Even before the Red Star attack, he’d worn glasses, but after Red Star, the glasses became the best way for him to disguise his impairment on a day-to-day basis. If he absolutely _had_ to lose the glasses, he used an eye patch, but he much preferred his glasses. Less chance of slipping and alarming random passersby.

The spy’s remaining blue eye scanned the top file again, though he’d already memorized the information. Sergeant Gregory Parker of the Toronto Police Department’s Strategic Response Unit, in charge of their top team: Team One. Team Leader: Constable Edward Lane. And mixed into the remaining constables was one Samuel Braddock, the only son of a prominent – and powerful – Canadian general. A former member of JTF2 and one of the few people Stringfellow Hawke considered a friend. Given how rarely the gun-shy Hawke permitted himself to make friends, it was an extraordinary accomplishment.

Between his brother’s decades long status as an MIA, Hawke’s work for the Firm, and the loss of almost every person Hawke had gotten close to, Hawke’s avoidance of relationships had been legendary, even before he’d met – and fallen in love with – Gabrielle Admuir. _After_ her death, well, Archangel had rather doubted Hawke would ever let another person close, even for a simple friendship. The spy pondered what, precisely, Braddock had done to gain the recluse’s trust. Then Archangel shook his head and moved on, though he took a moment to regret, as he often had before, that Gabrielle hadn’t been able to complete her investigation and warn him of Moffet’s impending betrayal.

He himself had gone to Hawke after Red Star, requesting Airwolf’s one surviving – and loyal – test pilot’s assistance in finding the missing stealth chopper. Hawke had agreed – after a fashion – but Archangel hadn’t heard from him again for close to four years. And when Hawke _had_ contacted Archangel, his request had been straightforward and blunt: get him into Canada’s JTF2 and he would handle the rest. Then he’d essentially disappeared, not even getting in touch with his mentor, Dominic Santini. After the first five years, Archangel had looked for Hawke, but although he’d been able to confirm Hawke was still alive, all other information had been withheld. Frankly, Archangel had long since given up on Hawke ever resurfacing when Stringfellow finally contacted him with the news that he’d found and retrieved Airwolf.

Snorting at himself, Archangel shook out Parker’s file and set it lightly on his desk. The spy’s expert eye could pick out places where details had been withheld, but he’d been well aware of Team One’s Official Secrets Act clearance when he’d requested the files. It _was_ intriguing that some of the withheld facts centered around Parker’s rather mysterious teenage charges, but Archangel lacked the data necessary to solve the mystery.

“Why them, Hawke?” Archangel murmured to his empty office. “What sets them apart from every other team you’ve ever run across, hmm?” And what role had they played in Moffet’s defeat and Airwolf’s recapture?

He’d flown down to Van Nuys the day after Hawke’s report and drilled the man for hours on the circumstances, only to come away frustrated and empty-handed because Hawke had, over and over again, cited the Official Secrets Act, effectively stonewalling the Firm’s deputy director, one of the top spies in the country. The _only_ reason Archangel hadn’t lost his temper was Hawke’s own expression of helpless frustration. Hawke hadn’t been holding back because he _wanted_ to or because he felt like tweaking Archangel’s tail, but because he _had_ to. Very rarely did Archangel come across data he wasn’t allowed to have, especially given his status as deputy director of the Firm, but there were exceptions…and this was one of them.

Well, there was nothing for it. If he wanted to discover what set these cops, these _civilians_, apart, then he would have to go directly to the source and investigate himself. The option was not unattractive…he’d been getting a bit bored with his office work anyway. Hawke and Santini were in the middle of a particularly tricky group of movie stunts, so Archangel felt comfortable leaving the two men to fend for themselves for a few days. Besides, Zeus was still stunned by the idea that Airwolf was back in action; Archangel predicted it would be _months_ before his boss was prepared to make any overt moves against himself.

Satisfied that he’d come up with a convincing case to depart for Toronto as soon as he could make the arrangements, Archangel was, therefore, rather disappointed when his top assistant Marella entered his office. Marella stood almost as tall as her boss and her skin was a cocoa color, which was highlighted by the fact that every stitch of her clothing was pure white. Her brunette hair fell to her shoulders, every strand of it curly and just a bit frizzy. Serious brown eyes regarded Archangel from within her slim face, which was accented by the red makeup on her lips and a modest amount of eyeliner. Like all of his Angels, she was both beautiful and deadly; she’d been trained to be. Archangel was as proud of her as any of his ladies, none of whom he would ever lay an unprofessional hand on.

“Yes, Marella?”

Marella offered him a manila folder, which Archangel took and opened, reading through the information within. “Sir, another section’s been keeping an eye on a potential mole and they’ve just made their move.”

“Ah, that new weapons system Zeus ordered developed after we lost Airwolf,” Archangel observed sardonically. “Something went wrong with the capture?”

“I’m afraid so, sir. One of the surveillance members was compromised. They managed to keep him from killing any one, but by the time he was subdued, she’d gotten away.”

Archangel swore when he saw what the man had been dosed with. “I hoped we’d seen the _last_ of her,” he muttered resentfully.

“Yes, sir,” Marella agreed, her voice crisp. “Her apartment’s been searched and we think we know where she’s going.”

“Germany, perhaps, or Russia? North Korea? They _have_ been rather active of late.”

“Canada.”

Archangel’s head snapped up. “Canada? Our neighbors to the north are many things, but I can’t even remember the last time we dealt with _Canadian_ spies.”

“No, sir,” Marella acknowledged. “We don’t believe Canada is her final destination, just the hand-off point.”

“I see. And from there, I suppose, the information will find its way to any number of interested parties.”

“Yes, sir.”

Archangel considered, his hands tightening on the folder. On the one hand, this was _Zeus’s_ problem, not his. On the other…he had unfinished business with _this_ particular mole. He still owed her for almost destroying his life, his career, and his country in one fell swoop. If not for Hawke… Archangel shook the old memories away and turned back to Marella. “Do we have any ideas of _where_ in Canada this meeting is to take place?”

Marella’s smile was wintery; she held just as big a grudge against this particular mole as her boss did. “We do, sir. It may be a diversion, though, sir.”

“Explain.”

“The information _should_ have been destroyed, sir. She had plenty of time, especially with her helper inside the surveillance team. Why it wasn’t…”

“Hmmm. That _is_ disturbing,” Archangel murmured. He glanced through the folder again, noting additional details and filing them away for future use. “Still, we are obliged to do our best to keep technology like this out of the hands of our many and varied enemies,” the white-clad spy mused. “Marella, where are we going?”

“ ‘We’, sir?”

“Well, I can hardly leave you behind,” Archangel drawled, his moustache tilting with his smirk.

“No, sir,” Marella agreed at once. “Toronto, sir.”

_Toronto._ Well, now… Archangel allowed a brief smile to cross his face.

“Sir, if I may?” Archangel nodded permission. “It may be better to dispatch Airwolf, particularly since this might be a diversion. If we get additional information while Airwolf is enroute, they can change course and intercept the mole.”

Ordinarily, Archangel would have agreed with Marella and given orders for _precisely_ that course of action, but the Firm spy was in the mood for a personal jaunt – not to mention _personal_ revenge against the mole. And the fact that the mole was headed for Toronto? Why, it couldn’t have been more perfect than if Archangel had planned it all out himself. What _better_ way to test Hawke’s little group of Canadian cops than to employ their services in catching a dangerous mole?

“No, I think not, Marella,” Archangel disagreed, passing her the personal files for Toronto’s SRU Team One. “Arrange for them to act as our on-the-ground contacts, if you would, then inform Zeus that I’ll _personally_ handle his little mole problem. We’ll hold Airwolf in reserve; no need to _advertise_ that she’s back in Firm hands.”

Marella glanced down at the files. “Sir? You want to catch a mole with a group of civilian cops?”

Archangel smiled, just a touch viciously. “Yes, I do,” he confirmed, standing up and retrieving his white Panama hat and just as white trenchcoat. “I’d like to see how they do on _our_ side of the fence.”

Though Marella’s expression was skeptical, she didn’t argue with her boss. “Yes, sir. I’ll make the arrangements and get your chopper ready.”

“Excellent.”

As Marella left, Archangel adjusted his suit and tie, tilting his hat just a bit to the side. Regardless of what happened, it was _bound_ to be interesting. And maybe he would even discover why Hawke was so concerned about a group of Canadian police officers. Maybe. But he doubted it…he had a feeling Hawke’s reasoning was _also_ classified under the Official Secrets Act. Pity.

The spy twirled his silver-handled walking stick, then landed the tip of the rosewood cane on the floor and followed his subordinate out the door. It truly _had_ been far too long since his last field assignment. A smile crossed the spy’s face. Let the Game begin.


	2. The Gryphon and the Archangel

Sergeant Gregory Parker pulled his locker open, trading his civilian clothing for his SRU uniform. He paused, inspecting the back of his shirt when he noticed a bit of fraying just below the shoulders, right by one of two ‘slits’ in the fabric; with Shelley’s help, most of his shirts had been custom altered to allow for his wings if his magic ever got out of control again. She’d offered to do the same with his uniform, but Parker had gently turned her down, pointing out that she couldn’t alter his bullet-proof vest or his equipment vest. Besides, if his wings popped out while he was on-duty, that would almost certainly be his last day regardless.

Sophie Lane was much less willing to forgive, not that he blamed her, and he hadn’t seen her since the incident. Maybe by the time he had his magic under control, Sophie would be willing to give him another chance. In the meantime, Greg had been so busy with work and learning magical control that he honestly hadn’t realized it _had_ been almost two months until he’d walked in that morning and Ed had teased him by giving him a custom card that had Spike’s handiwork _all_ over it. The card, sporting a pair of angel wings on the front, ‘congratulated’ him for hitting fifty days without an Animagus transformation.

Thoughtful, the Sergeant mused on his best payback strategy for the card. To be fair, he’d have to get both Ed _and_ Spike, _without_ nailing the rest of his team, but he already had a few ideas on that score. Done changing, he closed his locker and trekked out of the locker room, heading towards the briefing room. As he reached the atrium, Winnie waved him over.

“What is it, Winnie?” Greg asked, heading over to the dispatcher’s desk and leaning against it with a smile for his coworker.

“Commander Holleran wanted to see you as soon as you were in,” Winnie replied crisply.

Greg tapped the desk with a nod. “Copy that, Winnie.” He headed around her desk and angled for his superior’s office. When he reached the familiar door, he knocked.

“Enter.”

Parker pushed the door open and ducked inside. “Commander Holleran? You wanted to see me, sir?”

The commander waved him inside and pointed Greg to the chair. “Sergeant Parker, your team is no longer the primary team this shift,” Holleran informed his subordinate.

“Sir?” Greg questioned, confused.

After the utter insanity of McKean and its aftermath, things had quieted down, snapping back to ‘normal’ so quickly that his team had spent the first three weeks on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His own personal problems had been harder to deal with, but his nephew had patiently coached him through the worst of getting his wild side under control. Though Greg had yet to reach the carrot of dumping his ‘team sense’, he’d made admirable progress towards that particular goal of his and fully anticipated eventually achieving it.

Seeing the growing worry on the Sergeant’s face, Commander Holleran shook his head. “Parker, your team isn’t in trouble.”

“Then what’s going on?”

The commander drummed his fingers on his desktop. “I’m not completely sure,” he admitted. “All I know is that we received a request this morning to hold your team back and put them at the disposal of a civilian agency’s representatives.”

“Which agency?”

“I don’t know that, either,” Holleran replied, his tone regretful. “I’m reasonably confident that whatever’s going on isn’t related to your…_other_ duties.” Greg nodded once in understanding. “Beyond that…I don’t know. All I know is that we’re expecting two individuals to arrive sometime this shift and that they’ll provide all the details for whatever op your team’s been tapped for.”

“How will we identify them?”

There was a sharp rap on the door.

Holleran exchanged a frown with Parker, then called, “Enter!”

Two people entered, one woman and one man, both of whom were dressed, head to toe, in white. The woman strode ahead of the man, holding out a folder that Holleran took and opened. “Commander Holleran? Marella Duval. I believe you’re expecting us?”

Amusement flashed on the commander’s face. “Yes, Miss Duval, I was just briefing Sergeant Parker on your impending arrival.”

Greg pushed himself up from his seat and turned to the woman, extending his hand. Miss Duval shook his hand firmly, then stepped aside for the man – her boss, Greg realized at once. The blond man was fairly tall, at least a centimeter or two taller than Greg himself, and lean. His blond hair was reminiscent of Sam’s, but it was much more styled than Sam’s had ever been, as was the small, neat moustache adorning the man’s upper lip. But what immediately drew Greg’s attention was the man’s glasses, or, more specifically, the blacked out lens over the stranger’s left eye.

The negotiator extended his hand again, shaking the blond man’s hand; the man squeezed, just a bit, judging Greg’s grip before pulling back. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sergeant Parker,” he drawled, reaching up to nudge his glasses back into place. “I’ve heard quite a bit about your team’s reputation of late.”

“Thank you,” Greg replied, cataloging the strangers’ stances and accents. American, in all likelihood. “What brings you to Toronto?”

“Ah, directly to business, excellent,” the blond declared, leaning on his cane. “A somewhat delicate matter, I’m afraid.”

“And you need my top team’s help?” Commander Holleran questioned.

The moustache turned up as the blond directed a suave and genteel smile in the commander’s direction. “I do,” he confirmed. “We are tracking a dangerous individual, who is currently in possession of documents that are very valuable to a number of parties. Most of those parties are no friend to either of our countries, Commander Holleran.”

Holleran wasn’t impressed. “And you _specifically_ need _my_ team to catch this person? The SRU’s primary focus is on handling hostage crises, defusing explosives, and executing high-risk warrants, not tracking down a single individual.”

The blond was unmoved. “I am certain that your team will rise to the occasion, Commander. Moreover, our target will be _expecting_ us to utilize traditional tracking methods and tactics; she’s proven quite adept at avoiding our operatives. From the information I have, Sergeant Parker’s team is skilled with improvising on the fly, an invaluable asset when dealing with this particular individual.”

“And what sort of individual _are_ we talking about?” Greg inquired, his tone direct as he gave the other man a challenging look. His instincts were beginning to jangle; despite the blond’s friendly air and attitude, Parker suspected he was actually the most dangerous man in the room.

Miss Duval and her boss traded looks, then Duval replied, “She’s a former East German agent, Sergeant Parker.”

A shiver went up Greg’s back. His team was being assigned to help catch a spy?

* * * * *

Archangel studied the stocky Sergeant, noting his ability to hide his emotions – invaluable for a negotiator – as well as the man’s confident, but not aggressive, attitude. Polite, but not unwilling to press for additional information. All in all, Archangel was satisfied the man was good at his chosen career, but so were many other law enforcement officers – what set Parker’s team apart in Hawke’s view of life?

The only anomaly Archangel had seen thus far was subtle; he doubted even Marella had noticed it. Parker moved with a fluid grace that reminded the spy of a large cat, balancing on his feet in such a way that he could move in any direction at need, changing his course practically mid-step. And there was something about his eyes that Archangel couldn’t quite put his finger on…

The three arrived at their destination – a medium-sized room with blue panels and a steel barrier for a door. Inside, a group of officers were trading banter as they waited for the start of their shift; Archangel restrained a smile as he observed them, recognizing every last one of them from their personal files. The team leader, Lane, was the first to spot his boss and the Firm agents; he rapped on the table, drawing attention to himself.

“Boss?” he called.

Parker led his guests inside the room and tapped the door’s controls, lowering them. Then the Sergeant moved to the head of the table. “Okay, guys, change of plans for this shift. Team Two will take over as primary.”

“Why?”

Ah, Braddock. Archangel studied the former soldier, cataloging as many details as he could about the man. His JTF2 file was littered with blackout marks, a fact that thoroughly annoyed Archangel, particularly when he wasn’t sure if the blackouts were due to the Official Secrets Act or some other factor.

Parker was answering his subordinate so Archangel refocused on the Sergeant. “We’ve been assigned to assist in a manhunt, Sam.” He turned slightly, gesturing towards Archangel and Marella. “Miss Duval?”

Marella gave Parker a crisp, efficient smile, then stepped forward, passing out the folders in her hands. “_Agent_ Duval, actually, Sergeant Parker.” She glanced sidelong at her boss and Archangel gave her a definite nod. “And this is Deputy Director Michael Coldsmith Briggs the Third.”

Archangel hid his smirk at the swiftly hidden reactions to his name, though he noticed that Braddock was suddenly studying him rather intently. As if Braddock had heard his name before. But where? Parker, he could tell, had already picked up on the undertones; his gaze was just as sharp and speculating. Quite the negotiator, indeed.

Then Callaghan spoke up. “Director for what?” she questioned.

“An American agency,” Archangel replied smoothly, making it clear she would get no further information.

“Who are we after?” Young inquired, leaning forward in his seat as he looked up from the sparse information in the folder he’d been given.

Ah, yes, that information _had_ been kept out of the folders, not to frustrate the officers, but to keep _Zeus_ from realizing just _who_ the mole was. If Zeus had so much as an _inkling_ that _she_ was in play, Archangel would find himself either under house arrest or Zebra Squad’s target – again. And should Zeus discover Archangel’s ploy of using Canadian SWAT officers to _find_ this particular mole, well…that just made things more _interesting_.

“Her name is Maria von Furster,” Marella replied. “She’s a former agent for East Germany, one of their most successful, but she disappeared off our radar several years ago. She reappeared two days ago when she broke cover and stole information about a weapons system currently in development.”

“And she slipped the net?” Braddock’s question was pointed and just a bit sarcastic. Archangel’s eye narrowed; he hadn’t realized Braddock was familiar enough with black ops to know most moles were ferreted out _long_ before they made a move and then put under surveillance.

“Sam?” Wordsworth asked, confusion on his face.

“Yes, she did,” Marella confirmed with a rather pinched expression. “She won’t be able to use the same method here in Toronto, but she has a history of evading capture and making herself disappear. She’s also been known to fake her own death if necessary.”

“Any ideas where she’s hiding out?” Scarlatti piped up.

Marella smiled at the bomb tech. “Intelligence suggests that she’s planning to use an ongoing conference at a hotel called the Royal York as cover for the hand-off.”

Scarlatti straightened. “Guys, that conference wraps up tonight.”

“Then we’d better move fast,” Lane opined, rising to his feet. “Gear up.”

“If you don’t mind,” Archangel cut in, his tone making it clear his next words were _anything_ but a request, “Marella and I will accompany you.”

The officers looked less than enthused and Lane even opened his mouth to argue before Parker overrode him. “Director Briggs, if you and your assistant come, you _will_ stay out of my officers’ way.”

Hazel met blue, not even flinching at the fact that Archangel was glaring back with only one eye. Finally, Archangel’s moustache tipped up in the tiniest of smiles. “Certainly, Sergeant Parker.” _Well, well, well, you _do_ have some steel hidden away behind the negotiating. Very intriguing._

As the officers left, Archangel’s gaze followed them and he frowned. Was it just him or were Parker’s shoulders just a bit bigger than they’d been before?

* * * * *

Ed’s unhappiness mirrored Greg’s own, but that wasn’t the Sergeant’s primary concern. As soon as he was away from the briefing room, Parker focused, forcing his partially-formed wings to disappear again before he grabbed his bullet-proof vest and started putting it on. At least he’d been able to ‘catch’ them before they popped out right in front of the two spies.

“Boss, we don’t need two civilians hanging over our shoulders.”

“Ed, he wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer,” Greg replied bluntly. “Whoever this woman is, it’s personal for him.”

Wordy nodded grimly from the other side. “A deputy director comes _himself_ for a simple manhunt?”

“Gotta be personal,” Jules chipped in. Then she glanced over at Sam. “You recognized his name, though.”

“Maybe.” The team paused, all of them giving their rookie intent looks. Sam lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I heard the name once, guys. I’m not even sure if this guy is the same one Hawke was talking about; it was right after a mission that went bad.” At the shadows in Sam’s eyes, his teammates opted not to ask for details.

“But you think this guy _is_ the same guy,” Jules pressed.

“Yeah, I do,” Sam admitted after a second. “Hawke mentioned a ‘Marella’, too.”

“What do you know?” Ed questioned.

“If this _is_ the ‘Michael’ Hawke told me about, he’s one of the best.”

“Spies,” Lou concluded, earning a nod.

“Spies, black ops; guys, we arrest this Furster, she’s not going to get a trial. Not even close.”

Greg grimaced at that little detail, then reluctantly added, “Whoever he is, he’s setting my sixth sense off, team.” He gave Ed a direct look. “I’ll be giving that card back after shift.”

The team leader winced, reading between the lines. “Copy. How do you want to handle the search, Boss?”

Parker considered a moment, then replied, “Ed, figure out a central location where I and our guests can stay while you guys search the rest of the conference. If we can keep _him_ away from our subject, then maybe we can nix any personal vendettas.”

“Okay,” Ed acknowledged, “We’ll pair up, search the rooms, see if we can catch her before she hands this thing off.”

Greg fastened the last strap on his equipment vest. “All right, team. Let’s keep the peace.”


	3. Tracking the Mole

The Royal York was largely unchanged from the last time Team One had frequented its corridors, when an easy protection detail had turned into a frantic search for a missing principal and Spike defusing a necklace bomb. Sergeant and team leader headed straight for the hotel’s security office to speak with the hotel’s security chief.

The man remembered them and rose from his desk with an uneasy, “Sergeant Parker?”

Ed took the lead. “We’ve received a report that the conference here is being used as cover for illicit dealings.”

The security chief’s eyes widened. “We’ve had them here before and never had a problem,” he protested at once.

Greg gestured for the man to calm down. “We don’t believe the conference organizers are in on it, sir. We believe several persons obtained invitations to the conference under false pretenses and we need to locate them before they complete their activities.”

Far from calming down, the security chief blurted, “If you search the conference, you’ll alarm the guests!”

“We’ll do our best to be minimally disruptive,” Parker soothed, cutting off the rant he could see coming, “but we need your cooperation to catch these criminals.”

“Starting with master keys,” Ed added and demanded.

It took another few minutes, but, in short order, they had master keys for every member of the team.

Parker added one further order before they left. “No one in or out of the conference area. Pass the word: SRU _only_.”

“Yes, Sergeant Parker,” the unenthused security chief replied.

Ed smirked as they departed the office. “Shame. They’ll actually have to do some work,” he quipped.

“Down, Eddie, let’s not antagonize them,” Parker chided. “Have you picked out a spot for myself and our guests?”

“Not yet, Boss,” Ed admitted. “I want to do an initial sweep first.”

“Pick the most unlikely room?”

“That’s the general idea.” Ed darted a look at his shorter boss. “Wonder where that Briggs guy found an all-white _trenchcoat_.” _Not to mention the all-white suit._

“Ed, I’ve been trying not to think about that.”

* * * * *

Archangel couldn’t deny that he was somewhat annoyed to find himself and Marella shunted off to the side and relegated to the conference’s central room. The entire _point_ of coming personally was so he could _be_ there when the mole was captured, but it seemed that Sergeant Parker had picked up on his private plans and decided to foil them. Bother. Hawke _would_ have to find a group of men just as honorable and stubborn as he was.

Marella appeared far more satisfied by their location. Close enough to the action for their presence to be palpable, but not so close that her boss was in danger. Truly, Archangel couldn’t blame her for being protective after his _last_ encounter with Maria von Furster. Resigned to the sidelining, Archangel turned his formidable mind to analyzing Hawke’s pack of strays.

Well, perhaps not _strays_, Archangel mused. He would have to find another appropriate description for the cops he was now expected to keep an eye on and protect. Despite the mysteries in their personal files, they appeared to be just as straightforward as he’d expected them to be. Capable, confident; men at the top of their profession and respected as such.

Close though. Closer than most teams were. Archangel hadn’t missed the way each member of the team deferred to their two leaders, even as they felt comfortable expressing themselves. Rare was the team who achieved that and even rarer were the leaders _capable_ of putting such a group together. He considered himself one of those leaders and it showed: his section of the Firm was one of its top sections, a fact that often came to his aid when he needed to be a bit more of a maverick than was _strictly_ permitted.

Idly, Archangel stroked his cane’s silver handle, pondering the mystery of Hawke and the connections he’d forged while searching for Airwolf.

* * * * *

Ed and Jules headed into the largest conference room on the Royal York’s second floor, their expressions focused and intent as they began their search for the subject. The conference goers were alarmed by the cops’ sudden appearance, but remained in their seats as the two constables swept the room, their weapons down, but at the ready.

Ed approached the primary organizers of the event, his tone business-like as he asked, “Are you using any other rooms on the second floor for this conference?”

“Why, yes,” the woman replied, “We have the meet-and-greet on this floor and one of our professional sessions is currently in progress.”

“Which rooms?” Ed questioned, showing them a map of the floor.

The man indicated the two rooms, then inquired, “Do we need to remove the guests, officer?”

Ed shook his head. “Just keep them all in this room until we’re done,” he requested. Having said that, he stepped away. “Wordy, Lou, check the meet-and-greet. Once you’re done, check in.”

“Copy that,” Lou acknowledged.

* * * * *

Wordy and Lou entered the larger of the two additional rooms on the second floor to find what looked like a cocktail party, complete with an open bar. The two constables traded looks, then made their way through the room, checking every female attendee against the photo they’d been given. Murmurs followed the officers, but none of the guests looked particularly eager to confront the pair directly.

As the two reached the far end of the room, they were finally approached by a man in a suit, wearing a nametag that identified him as one of the event employees. “Can we help you, officers?”

Wordy gave the man a smile. “We appreciate the offer, sir, but we’ve got things under control.”

“Anything we should be aware of?” the man pressed.

Lou’s reply was diplomatic. “We don’t believe anyone here is at risk, sir. But if you could keep everyone here in this room, we can finish up our search much faster.”

“Certainly, officers.”

* * * * *

Greg made a note in his binder as his two second floor patrols checked in almost simultaneously. “Okay, that leaves the second floor session room,” Parker mused over the comm.

“Lou, Wordy, head back to the first floor,” Ed cut in. “Sam, Spike, what do you got?”

“We’ve been through three of the first floor session rooms,” Sam reported. “No sign of Furster in any of them, Ed.”

“The presenters are keeping people in their seats,” Spike added. “But I’m still seeing people wandering around the first floor.”

“We’ll get the wanderers,” Wordy volunteered.

“Keep in touch, team,” Greg urged as he paced back towards Briggs and Duval.

“No sign of her?” Duval asked.

“Not yet,” Greg admitted quietly. “How solid is your information?”

The two traded looks, Duval with a touch of what Parker identified as ‘I-told-you-so’ and Briggs with a hint of chagrin. Briggs cleared his throat. “Marella, if you could check in?”

“Yes, sir,” Duval acknowledged.

“Don’t go too far,” Parker requested.

A thin smile. “I don’t plan on it, Sergeant Parker.”

* * * * *

_Cops, he called in cops?_ the woman thought to herself as she observed the black and gray uniforms. Never in a thousand years would she have expected Michael to call in law enforcement over his usual coterie of so-called Angels. But then, that had been what had _fascinated_ her about the American spy; he adapted to his circumstances, playing them for all they were worth, and he never had less than a full five plots in motion before breakfast on any given day. And he _thrived_ on pulling unexpected and unanticipated moves.

But Maria von Furster had believed _Archangel_ shared the typical spy’s disdain towards more…_law-abiding_ areas of government. The best way to get things done was to bypass more traditional branches, going directly to the source and dealing with events _personally_. Her onetime lover was a _master_ in the art of telling politicians what they wanted to hear and then promptly doing _precisely_ as he pleased, regardless of what those spineless weasels wanted.

So _why_, she wondered, had Archangel changed his approach to start working _with_ civilians? Unless…unless they weren’t _truly_ civilians. Maria tapped her lip thoughtfully, recalling the last time she’d seen Michael in person.

* * * * *

_Maria smiled to herself as she guided the military man straight to Michael. Once Michael was safely away, then the Game could truly begin. All the arrangements had been made, everything was in place. Everything save Michael himself._

_As they rounded the corner and entered Michael’s cell, she heard the man – Hawke – swear under his breath at the sight of Michael. The usually dapper spy was disheveled and unshaven, bruises marking his pale skin and cuts on his face from where he’d been punched. He was also wheezing for air after his latest session with a five-gallon bucket._

_“Michael,” she cried softly, flying to him in worry. Kruger had _promised_._

_Michael lashed out automatically, nearly hitting her, but Hawke pulled her out of the way. Then he crouched next to the Firm spy. “Archangel,” he rumbled firmly._

_“Hawke?” Michael’s voice trembled and Maria wondered…had Kruger gone too far?_

_“I’ve got you, Archangel,” Hawke informed the injured man. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”_

_It took both of them to get Michael on his feet and headed towards the exit. Maria kept her eyes open and on the move; Hawke had confessed to her that he’d called in a favor from some friends of his to get Michael out of the country, but they needed to get Michael off the estate and back to the town where she’d met Hawke. It was far from ideal, but Maria had managed to arrange things just as she and Kruger wished._

_Still…Kruger’s last session with Michael had put their plans at risk; she would have _words_ with him over rendering Michael too badly injured to walk far. Hawke finally swung the spy up in a fireman’s carry, just so they could make better time. Michael protested, but they were rapidly running out of time. Maria stayed close enough that Michael could see her as they hurried through the town streets towards the small airport._

_Just outside the airport, Kruger’s men ‘caught up’ to them and Maria cried out as a bullet ‘hit’ her, collapsing so Michael – and Hawke – would believe her dead. Michael called her name in a desperate voice, but Hawke didn’t stop as he raced for a military transport on the opposite side of the field. Perfect._

* * * * *

That had been the last time she’d seen Michael; less than a week later, their man at the Firm had reported that Hawke had somehow foiled their plans for Michael and the Committee. She and Kruger had fled in anticipation of the Firm’s counterattack. A year later, she received word that Michael had tracked Kruger down himself, executing her partner and lover. She’d gone as far underground as possible, only resurfacing when tidbits of the Firm’s latest weapons program reached her ears. That it had been _Zeus_ running the program, rather than Michael, had been a disappointment, but she’d rallied and regrouped.

And now Michael had turned his search for her over to a group of _civilians_? Well, she would just have to find him and have a private _chat_ with him about the matter. If she was lucky, she might even be able to finagle him into telling her _why_ he was trusting a group of incompetent _police officers_ instead of his Angels.

* * * * *

Archangel leaned just a bit more on his cane, his eye surveying the room and idly keeping watch for trouble. He didn’t truly _expect_ any, not when Sergeant Parker and his team had gone to some effort to keep trouble _away_ from him, but the veteran spy knew better than to let his guard down. There were more than a few old enemies of his who would _love_ to know that he was outside his usual territory and unguarded.

Perhaps allowing Marella to introduce him properly had been a mistake? She’d argued strenuously that the Canadian officers had no _need_ to know he was a deputy director at all, much less his _real_ name. However, Archangel, knowing that Hawke wanted him to keep a eye on the officers, had chosen to extend a small measure of trust to them. A measure he was already having second thoughts about, even if it was much too late.

Thoughtfully, Archangel’s attention shifted back to the business-like Sergeant coordinating the search through the hotel. His initial impression of the man hadn’t changed: Parker was solid and skilled at his role, but he was nothing out of the ordinary. A natural leader, perhaps, but still nothing out of the ordinary. So what, if anything, did Parker and his team have to do with Airwolf?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask, not without giving his connection to Airwolf away as well as the fact that he knew more than _just_ what was in Parker’s personal file. If Braddock _had_ recognized his name, then it was a short leap from Archangel asking about a certain helicopter to Archangel _knowing_ Hawke – and vice versa. While Archangel delighted in knowing other people’s secrets, he detested allowing them to discover his own.

Marella reappeared, closing her phone. Archangel gave her an expectant look and she shook her head. No new data, then. The diversion theory was looking far more likely, in which case he would have some fence mending to do. And Zeus’s information was, in all probability, long gone. Not ideal, but they would recover and perhaps they could turn this setback to their advantage…

Between one moment and the next, calm dissolved into chaos as a black-haired woman grabbed Marella, a knife to her throat before Marella could even react. Archangel’s cane fell to the floor as he went for his weapon, Parker only a heartbeat behind him.

Casually, the woman reached up with her free hand and removed her wig, revealing sleek blonde locks that Archangel had once treasured, just as he’d treasured and valued their owner. “Maria,” he hissed, not hiding the ice even as his mind calculated a thousand different ways this scenario could play out.

“Hello, Michael,” Maria purred, her knife pressing lightly against Marella’s jaw, just under an artery. “As you Americans say, long time, no see.”


	4. Controlled Stand-Off

One moment, things had been going relatively smoothly, even if it was becoming increasingly obvious that the two spies had gotten their information wrong. And the next, it was a hostage scenario, complete with bystanders fleeing in terror from the sudden violence in their midst. Greg’s eyes narrowed as he studied the woman holding Agent Duval hostage; she didn’t seem to match the photo they’d been given…

Then his eyes shifted, granting him vision far more acute and detailed, and he saw the telltale signs of a wig, right before the subject reached up, pulling the wig off to reveal the blonde locks from her photo. The knife, positioned right at Duval’s jaw and pressing lightly into her artery, ensured the white-clad spy wouldn’t move. The wig she cast aside, its job complete.

“Hello, Michael,” the subject purred, adjusting her hold on her hostage and tossing her head to realign her hair.

“Maria.” Briggs’s voice was solid ice and his one remaining eye glittered with impotent fury.

Personal. Parker grimaced as he watched the interaction betwixt the two. You didn’t get as angry as Briggs was getting without some _serious_ history. And the woman – Furster, she _knew_ Briggs was furious and she was enjoying every moment of it. Although he’d known this hunt was personal for Briggs, he hadn’t realized until _now_ just how intense the emotions were.

Time to mix things up. “Maria von Furster, I’m Sergeant Gregory Parker of the Police Strategic Response Unit.”

She hardly cast him a look. “_Cops_, Michael?” Maria chided. “Surely you could have done better than that.”

Greg stiffened, his gryphon side objecting to the insult. He listened to his comm, waiting for his team to catch on and start heading in his direction, but all he heard was chatter from Sam and Jules about how they hadn’t found the subject yet. Mentally, he sighed; he was going to have to scare his team. Softly, too softly for Furster to hear, Greg hissed, “Team, stay frosty.”

“Boss?” came the immediate chorus from Sam and Spike, Ed only a beat behind them.

“Sarge?” Wordy demanded, worry blazing in the one word.

Briggs was giving Furster a rather superior look, one Greg would’ve liked to smack off him; you did _not_ antagonize a subject holding a knife to a hostage’s throat like that! “I’ve always found the _unexpected_ move tends to give one an advantage, Maria.”

“As you see,” Maria sneered back. The knife drew a line of blood on Marella’s throat. “Tell me, Michael, is _she_ the one you traded me for?” A moue. “I’m disappointed in you.”

“Everyone get back to the Boss, on the double,” Ed barked. “Jules, you and I’ll stay high…there’s two balconies in that room.”

“Copy,” Jules acknowledged.

“The rest of you, stay on the first floor and stay low,” Ed ordered. “Could be our subject got the drop on one of our guests and not the Boss.”

“Got it,” Lou replied.

Greg studied the arrogant spy. Judging by her remarks thus far, she wasn’t likely to see him – or his team – as equals, though she would undoubtedly react badly if she believed his team had her surrounded. On the _other_ hand, she’d made her move _knowing_ there were cops in the building…why had she done that? A chance to taunt Briggs and threaten her ‘rival’? She had to know she wasn’t walking away from this. The moment she made a definite move against Marella, Briggs would shoot her. Or he would. So why make a move that couldn’t be taken back?

Deciding to go with a bit of curveball, Greg called, “So, looks like you two go back a ways, huh?”

Maria laughed, but it was high, haughty, and cold. “I suppose this would make you the negotiator, wouldn’t it?” she mocked. “State the obvious, draw things out so your fellows may get into position.” Dismissing him again, she turned back to Briggs. “Did you mourn for me?” she asked, leaning forward, an odd excitement in her eyes.

Briggs’ one eye turned even colder. “No.”

A lie and all of them knew it. Greg’s eyes darted between the antagonists, their history easy to read and even easier to get angry over. Which he was; despite his misgivings, his gryphon side seemed to have decided that Briggs and Duval were under his protection and the gryphon was _upset_ over the threat to his protectees. Not as upset as if a member of his team were under threat, but even so, Greg suddenly found himself fighting for control as he hadn’t since that first day. _No, not now,_ he mentally pleaded, forcing his eyes back to normal in an effort to tame the gryphon. _Not now…_

* * * * *

Ed huffed in some relief as soon as he burst out onto the balcony; Greg wasn’t the hostage. On the other hand, the team leader could see why his boss had opted to use the distress phrase; given how close the participants were, Furster might’ve reacted badly if the Boss had openly called them in. “Okay, subject has Duval hostage,” Ed reported. “Stay back on the first floor. If the subject sees us, she might go lethal. Jules?”

“I have the solution,” Jules reported at once. Then she audibly stiffened. “Ed, something’s up with Sarge.”

The team leader looked closer and resisted the urge to swear. Sure enough, Greg’s eyes were switching back and forth, a sure sign that he was fighting with all his might to keep from losing control. Ed debated with himself a moment, watching as the situation below simmered and boiled with history and emotions that had to be years if not _decades_ old.

Naturally, _that_ was when things got even worse; Sam swore a blue streak over the comm. “Sam?” Wordy questioned rather pointedly.

Sam added one last word, then spat, “Guys, I’ve _seen_ her before.”

“What? When?” Ed demanded.

“Nine years ago, near Berlin…”

* * * * *

_Sam whistled to himself, leaning back in his seat. Matt had called in a favor of his own to get them a VTOL military aircraft and pilot for Hawke’s little rescue mission. He and Matt had volunteered to help their friend extract _his_ friend, but Hawke had insisted that the infiltration was a task best done alone. His only order had been to keep the engines running; their dust-off might be a bit hostile._

_Gunfire whipped the two soldiers around and Sam was out of his seat in less than a second. “Braddock, cover fire,” Matt yelled, opening fire at the goons chasing after Hawke and his burden._

_Sam leapt out of the transport, racing forward and firing a few warning shots at the pursuers. In the process, he spotted a woman who’d obviously been helping Hawke and his friend. She lay on the ground, her hair spilled around her and her eyes staring blankly. There was something about her position that wasn’t quite right, but Sam had no time to think about that. He covered Hawke and his burden all the way back to their transport, then jumped aboard as the pilot turned the aircraft towards the runway and applied full throttle._

_In the cargo area, Hawke let the other man down; Sam hissed at the injuries that littered the lean man’s body. “Can I help?” Sam asked, unsure if he should or not. If it had been _him_ in that position, he wouldn’t have wanted a stranger’s help, just a friend’s._

_“Get me the first aid kit,” Hawke ordered._

_Sam darted for the kit, listening as Hawke conducted a swift check of their patient. “Got it,” Sam reported, coming back with the kit already open._

_Hawke nodded, but wasn’t looking at him. “Michael.”_

_“Hawke? Are we safe?”_

_“As safe as we can be right now, Michael,” Hawke replied bluntly. “Marella managed to get in contact with me.”_

_“You drop out of contact for _six_ years and _Marella_ finds you?”_

_A faint smile crossed Hawke’s face. “Might’ve been a bit more complicated than that,” he allowed. “We’ll get you back to the States, Michael,” Hawke promised quietly._

_“I don’t need babysitting, _Stringfellow_.”_

_Sam winced; this ‘Michael’ guy wasn’t happy if he was pulling out Hawke’s rarely used first name. But the soldier said nothing, merely nudging more medical supplies into Hawke’s reach. A sound made him turn, but it was only Matt, crawling into the cargo area._

_“Everything okay?” Matt questioned, right before he got a good look at Michael. “Never mind,” he muttered._

_“Oh, believe me, Sergeant Peck, the _eye_ is a very old injury,” Michael drawled, defiant to the last, even as the dregs of his energy drained away._

_The Canadian soldiers traded looks as the injured man finally fell unconscious. Hawke’s expression was grim, but he read Sam’s unspoken question easily. “He was one of the _lucky_ ones that day,” was the taciturn man’s only comment._

_“Lucky?” Matt asked._

_“Yeah.” Hawke turned back to his friend, eyes softening a touch from their usual granite. “He survived.”_

_Sam whistled low. But he couldn’t help but notice that Hawke’s expression was turning furious. “What?”_

_“We got away too easily,” Hawke murmured. “Too easy.”_

* * * * *

“He was right,” Sam announced coldly. “Guys, it _was_ too easy. Less’n two days later, Michael tried to kill all his bosses in one fell swoop.”

“Whoa,” Spike whispered, staring at the white-coated spy. “_Briggs_ did that?”

“Yeah, he did, Spike,” Sam confirmed. “But Hawke swapped out all the ammo in his gun; he fired blanks. He never said what happened after that; Matt and I figured he’d only told us that much ‘cause we helped him get Michael out of Germany.”

“So she what? Brainwashed him?” Jules questioned from her balcony post.

“Something,” Sam replied. “Hawke didn’t give us many details, but he didn’t have to.”

Ed shuddered, just a bit. Torture. He knew it happened, knew it was a fact of life in many parts of the world; heck, he’d even been forced to watch as his best _friend_ was tortured; but he preferred for it to stay out of _his_ world. As far as humanly possible, thank you. And he _hated_ hearing that icy-cold soldier tone from Sam.

“Okay, that makes this even _more_ personal for Briggs,” Jules analyzed. “She threatened everything he is.”

“Tried to rip his mind apart,” Wordy muttered resentfully. “He’s looking for payback; that’s why he came himself.”

“I think you’re right, Wordy,” Ed agreed, studying the situation again. “Greg, you got to control this.”

“Boss,” Jules whispered, trying to add her own quiet warning to the mix.

* * * * *

Maria made a disappointed moue with her lips. “Come now, Michael,” she chided, “We had such fun, didn’t we?”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Briggs replied, his tone switching to one of forced nonchalance. “But I don’t particularly _enjoy_ truth serum or sensory deprivation tanks.”

His shoulder blades were itching like mad and it was all he could do to keep the visible change to _just_ his eyes as he doggedly hung onto his magical control for all he was worth. Ironically, the ‘team sense’, the very thing he was hoping to eventually stop using, was giving him the critical edge he needed to keep the gryphon caged. The gryphon shrieked indignation, but Greg refused to give in; no, they were going to do this _his_ way.

His mind raced, calculating, weighing the factors, adding Sam’s information to the situation in front of him. Something was still wrong, out of place. Why, why, why? Why had Furster blown her cover? She’d been _winning_; he and his team hadn’t noticed her, not with the wig and the makeup he could still see on her face. She could’ve handed the stolen information off and none of them, not even Briggs, would’ve known the difference. His gut clenched; it didn’t make sense, which meant all of them were missing a critical piece of the puzzle.

“You did what I wanted once, Michael,” Furster sneered loudly. “I can do it again.”

Under his suit, Briggs’s shoulders twitched and Parker chalked up another point for the subject. Enough. Even if she brushed him off again, he had to try to get her attention away from Briggs. “Ma’am, let’s talk about what we need to do to get everyone out of here safely today.”

He might as well have been talking to himself. Maria flicked a brief look at him, then turned back to Briggs, giving him a flirtatious look. “What do you say, Michael, hmm? We could have such _fun_ together.”

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same to you, Maria.”

A tiny scratching sound reached the Sergeant’s ears. Frowning, he shifted position just enough to scan the area behind and to the side of him. A figure was getting into position. Although he was wearing an SRU uniform, Parker knew he wasn’t Team One. No, he knew _exactly_ where his team was – and _none_ of them were behind him. Not even the pair on the balcony. Realization sparked and Parker calculated his next move with lightning speed, not even noticing that his eyes had shifted again and that his stance had shifted from _cop_ to _predator_.

“Scorpio.”

Two gunshots rang out.


	5. Saved By a Gunshot

One moment, he’d been jousting with his onetime lover, with _Marella_ on the line, and the next, Parker’s voice rang out with finality. “Scorpio.”

Maria fell sideways, a bullet through her skull, and Parker wheeled with inhuman speed, firing almost before he’d completed his turn. Archangel snapped around to see a man behind him, a man in an SRU uniform – Parker had _fired_ on one of his own men! Why? Numb, he watched as Parker advanced on the fallen man, kicking his weapon away and flipping the body over to cuff it.

“Not one of his, sir.”

Marella. Archangel turned, letting his relief that his assistant was unharmed show in his eye.

She gave him a tiny smile, understanding, then looked past him, expression turning shadowed. “He was about to fire on you, sir. I don’t know how Parker heard him.”

Understanding bloomed. “A setup,” Archangel concluded grimly. It made sense. Steal a valuable piece of information from the Firm, dangle a destination – and the compromised surveillance agent – in front of his nose, and wait for him to come running, eager for personal, up close revenge. “I was the target all along.”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Marella agreed softly. She glanced behind her, where Young was cuffing Maria’s body. Archangel stilled; _he_ might have been the primary target, but he had little doubt that as one of his best Angels, Marella had been a secondary target.

“When we return,” Archangel murmured, “Let us investigate what role Zeus might have played in this affair; he was rather displeased when Hawke turned up with Airwolf.”

Marella nodded once. “Yes, sir.” Bending down, she retrieved her boss’s cane, offering it without a word.

Archangel took the smooth implement, resting his weight on it. The two spies regarded the activity around them with aplomb, neither outwardly alarmed by the experience they’d just been through. In short order, the civilian investigators, SIU, appeared to take the two spies’ statements and process Marella for forensic evidence. Archangel moved away as Marella was forced to trade her usual garb for a set of ill-fitting sweats; despite the unprofessional clothing, Marella conducted herself with her usual dignity, fully cooperating with the SIU investigation. After all, the investigation was _solely_ about the hostage situation, not the chain of events leading up to it.

* * * * *

Archangel waited until the two of them were safely in their hotel room and Marella had had a chance to change into better fitting clothing. In deference to his limp, the one-eyed spy settled himself in the room’s chair, taking the weight off his legs as he went through his usual post-mission gun cleaning. “What do you think of them, Marella?”

Seated on the bed and working with her laptop, Marella glanced up at him, weighing his expression. Then she looked back at the computer screen, controlling her expression and tone. “Furster was able to evade them, sir.”

“True.”

The slim woman considered, just a moment. “I doubt even Zebra Squad would have caught onto the assassin until it was too late, sir. But Parker _did_.”

“Yes.” It was very interesting, particularly given the fact that Archangel was _quite_ sure they would discover the deceased assassin had a number of bodies to his count. Maria wouldn’t have settled for just _any_ assassin. Oh, no, she’d hired the best she could, only to have her plot foiled by a simple SWAT officer.

“Overall, sir, I’d say they did better than _I_ would have expected them to do,” Marella finished. “They stopped Furster…”

“…and her assassin…”

“Of course, sir.” Marella studied her laptop and smiled grimly. “The information is secure, sir. A good day’s work.”

“Particularly for a group of _police officers_,” Archangel teased gently.

Marella’s expression smoothed out. “That goes without saying, sir.”

* * * * *

Greg and Jules returned to the barn together after their SIU investigations. Jules arched a brow at her boss. “Nice shot, Sarge.”

He smiled at her. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you, Jules? You had the sniper shot, not me.”

“But you kept that guy from shooting Briggs,” Jules countered. She tilted her head in thought. “I wonder how he got an SRU uniform.”

Parker nodded agreement. “Furster was surprised that Director Briggs had called us in. And Commander Holleran only found out about our reassignment this morning.”

“Short notice, then,” Jules mused. Then she shrugged. “We’ll probably never know, will we, Sarge.”

“No, I have a suspicion this hot call will be quietly swept under the rug,” her boss confirmed. “With any luck, we won’t see Director Briggs or Agent Duval again after today.”

Jules gave her boss a gimlet eye. “You really believe that?”

He grinned back at her, so much like _himself_ that Jules felt herself smile. “I can hope.” With that, he pushed the atrium door open and headed inside headquarters.

“Amen,” Jules whispered as she followed him.

* * * * *

The next morning, Greg looked up from his ever-present paperwork in surprise as two familiar figures entered the briefing room. He rose, offering his hand and Briggs shook it firmly; Duval smiled at him, but kept back, letting her boss take the lead. “Director Briggs, Agent Duval, is there something else we can help you with?”

“Not today, Sergeant Parker,” Briggs replied, leaning on his cane. “I did want to thank you for your actions yesterday.”

The negotiator smiled. “All part of the job, sir.”

“So I understand,” the spy granted. “Marella and I will be heading back to the States today; we’ve secured the stolen intelligence and confirmed that Furster never passed any of it on.”

Leaning back on his heels, Parker nodded once. “Sounds like it all worked out for you.”

Briggs regarded him closely for a minute as Marella looked on; Greg refused to flinch as the moment hung. Then Briggs’ mustache tipped up in a tiny smirk. “I believe, Sergeant Parker, that should my duties ever require me to travel to your fair city again, I will bring along heavy artillery.”

“Or you could call us again,” Greg countered, his voice deadpan.

“Yes,” Briggs mused. “Certainly not out of the realm of possibilities.” Inclining his head, the white-clad spy added, “Again, our thanks for your help, Sergeant. Please pass my thanks on to your team.”

“I’ll do that,” the negotiator promised.

Briggs adjusted his hat, nodded to Greg, then turned and left, Duval in his wake. He stopped at the door, looking back. Greg arched a questioning brow and Briggs cast him another smirk. “If we meet again, Sergeant, please, call me Archangel.” With a sweep, the spies were gone.

* * * * *

Archangel leaned back in his seat, smiling to himself as he reviewed the retrieved intelligence. Zeus could whine and complain about need-to-know all he wanted; after surviving yet _another_ assassination attempt, Archangel was in _no_ mood to accommodate his boss’s whims. Particularly if, on the off-chance, Zeus _had_ been involved with the prior day’s debacle. Unlikely, but Archangel hadn’t survived in the Game this long by _trusting_ people; he trusted himself, Hawke, and Marella. _Maybe_ Dominic Santini. But no others.

Once he was finished reading through the intelligence report, the spy set it aside, turning his attention to the officers who’d successfully brought Maria down. In a way, he regretted her death; had they been able to take her alive, they might’ve uncovered a good deal of useful information. On the _other_ hand, he _far_ preferred Marella’s survival to having Maria in custody. Parker’s team, unused to the Game and the ‘traditional’ treatment of any spy ‘careless’ enough to be captured, had protected both Marella _and_ Archangel. Zebra Squad would’ve executed Marella simply so they could take Maria alive. They might have even executed _him_ for allowing Maria to get the drop on one of his subordinates.

Marella hadn’t objected after his somewhat impulsive decision to give Parker his codename, a sure indicator that Parker’s team had won her approval. And Archangel, considering the events of the past twenty-four hours, thought he was finally understanding why Hawke saw Team One as important, irreplaceable. It wasn’t because of their undeniable skill in their field, nor because they could manage impressive feats like bringing down an assassin Marella had already matched to over forty hits. No, Hawke’s reasoning had far more to do with the fact that Team One was willing to adapt to whatever life threw at them, meeting every new challenge with the same stubborn honor Hawke did.

He didn’t have all the pieces, nor would he unless and until he could wrangle obtaining Official Secrets Act clearance himself, but he had enough. Finding St. John Hawke was still a wild goose chase, one that was unlikely to ever see success, but watching over Team One? That he could do and gladly.

Marella approached, offering a radio. “Hawke’s on the line, sir.”

Sighing, Archangel took the radio and keyed it. “Hawke, what is it?”

“What’s this I hear about you goin’ after Furster by _yourself_?” Hawke demanded furiously.

* * * * *

Ed wasn’t surprised when, at the end of the next shift, Greg sat next to him on the locker room bench and tried to give back the angel wing card. The team leader held up his hands, refusing to touch it. “Ed,” came the exasperated rebuke and Greg gave his constable an expectant, irritated look.

“You didn’t lose control,” Ed countered.

“I shifted, that’s enough.”

“Says who?” Ed demanded. “Look, Boss, I saw you down there. I saw your eyes shifting back and forth, so did Jules. But you didn’t lose it. You kept it together and saved that guy’s life.” When his boss gave him a skeptical look, Ed pushed harder. “Greg, _you’re_ the one who caught that subject sneaking up on Briggs. Jules and I didn’t see him and everyone else was holding back. You were the only one in a position to catch what _we_ didn’t.”

“I heard him,” Greg muttered, suddenly not meeting Ed’s gaze.

Ed’s eyebrows arched. “Okay, you heard him.” Leaning forward, the team leader asked a question he already knew the answer to. “How?”

Greg glanced over at his friend, unwilling to reply, but he knew Ed would wait as long as he needed to for an answer. It took a minute to frame the words, then he admitted quietly, “I was fighting with all I had to keep it together, Eddie.” Ed nodded, his gaze steady. “It was small, just a scratching sound. I’m not sure how I knew it was trouble; I just did. And when I looked, I knew it wasn’t any of you.”

“The ‘team sense’,” Ed breathed.

A slow breath. “And it didn’t make sense, not until that moment, Eddie.”

“What didn’t?”

A faint remembering half-smile, half-grimace. “Why’d she make her move, Ed? She could’ve slipped past any _one_ of us. We didn’t catch her, she came to us. Why?”

Ed sat back on the bench with a huff. His boss was right. If the subject had _wanted_ to get away, she could have and none of them ever would’ve known the difference. “She wanted Briggs dead.”

A sharp nod. “She did,” Greg agreed. “It didn’t make sense and then it did. That’s when I called Scorpio.”

“And took out her accomplice.”

“Yes.”

Ed let the word hang between them, then he drove his point home. “Greg. You didn’t do that in _spite_ of your gryphon side. You did it _because_ your gryphon side helped you put the pieces together.” At his friend’s confused look, Ed kept going. “I was up there, watching you, and I didn’t just see Greg Parker, SRU Sergeant. I didn’t just see your gryphon side, either, Greg. I saw _both_.”

Greg shifted uncomfortably. “Eddie…”

The team leader shook his head. “Greg, you’re using your gryphon side to help save lives. And maybe you’ve still got a ways to go with this whole magic thing, but you’re getting there, Boss.” Ed allowed a brief smirk to show. “You beat it, Greg. It was fighting to get out and you kept things together. Now _that’s_ a big improvement.”

The Sergeant flicked an annoyed expression at his team leader. “I’m not going to win this one, am I?”

Ed laughed, clapping Greg on the back. “Nope,” he confirmed, standing up. The constable stopped, looking down at his amused and exasperated boss. “We’ve got your back, Sarge.”

Exasperation didn’t vanish, but Parker flashed a smile. “Copy that.”

* * * * *

The gryphon fumed in his place, still sore that his human had not only _refused_ to let him out, but had actually _defeated_ his best efforts. He’d fought, with all his might, to get out, to protect the two white-clad Not-Pride humans from the cold, bitter Not-Pride human, but his human had won the fight. He’d known the fledgling was trying to teach his human how to manage and control him, but he’d dismissed the efforts as doomed. After all, _he_ was strong and powerful, unlike his pitifully weak and fearful human side. _He_ was willing to do whatever was necessary to protect, but his _human_ shunned and scorned his methods.

He might’ve submitted to the fledgling, but he had _not_ submitted to his human. Not by a long shot. Privately, the gryphon plotted his best strategy, deciding to behave as tamely as possible for the foreseeable future. He would stow away his resources, gathering as much magic as he could. And when his human came under stress yet _again_, he would strike and _prove_, once and for all, which one of them deserved to rule…

_~ Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on that ominous note, fade to black. I hope everyone enjoyed the latest installment. As always, I adore any and all comments.
> 
> Now then, although there haven't been any _official_ episode twisters since "United We Stand", I haven't forgotten about Season 4 lingering in the background of our latest spate of stories. Sadly, that means the moment has now come. Right there, in the background, is Wordy's last canon episode: 04x05 "The Better Man", so next week, on Tuesday, September 10th, 2019 we'll be starting "Contingency Plan", a story that comes directly after "The Better Man".
> 
> See you on the battlefield!


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